Darling, It's Freezing Out There
by HoT.aGaiNsT.a.WaLL
Summary: Arthur has been running, but a little snow storm holds him up for just long enough.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Inception. Nolan is my God.

**Warning: **This is slash. That means guys loving guys.

**Author's Note**: Yes, I am fully aware that it is not Christmas or anywhere near Christmas. I was bored and procrastinating on other stories. Reviews are appreciated.

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The storm raged on; even as Arthur began to bundle up, ready to take his leave. It had been a long night, and he felt like getting home was his only option. There had been a lot of laughter that night. Cobb's children had been over, and had been gushing over Auntie Ariadnes' growing belly. It had been at least a year since they'd all gotten together, and a lot had changed.

Cobb had uprooted his family from the U.S. and moved them to a country home in the south of France. They were closer to his father—the children's grandfather—that way; they were safer. Their home was warm and inviting, even during the colder seasons. It had plenty of space for the kids to flourish. Most importantly, it fell under Saito's 'jurisdiction', and under that web Cobb, James, and Phillipa were safer than ever before.

Yusuf had gone back to Mombassa, taking up mixing elixirs. He had all of the money he could need. Resources were at his fingertips. He could do whatever he wanted to—pursue any job, legal or otherwise, with his Chemist background. Instead, he was spending his time trying to help the ailed people that found him. Weaning them off of the harmful effects of Somnacin. Helping them to begin dreaming on their own again. He liked to say that Cobb's Mal dilemma was what spurred these selfless acts on.

Graduation had been the first thing Ariadne had focused on after the Fischer Job. She'd poured herself into her schoolwork, doing her best to remain segregated from the Dreamworks. Eager to find herself before she made any life-altering decisions. That was how she met Scott, a young and awkward Canadian who was studying abroad. They had bet at a local coffee shop, where Scott sang and played the guitar on alternate Fridays. Ariadne liked to say that it was love at first sight. Scott said that she had taken at least a month to notice him. Nonetheless, nine months after meeting, they got engaged. A few months after that, married. And then, not six months later, Ariadne had called Arthur in a flurry of excitement and tears to tell him that she was pregnant. With twins. And that she wanted him to be the godfather.

"_Jesus_, Ari," he'd said, raking his hand over his face as he glanced around that week's hotel room. "I'm flattered. _Really_, I am. But I'm just not… I'm not exactly 'godfather' material…"

She'd scolded him. They had a bit of an argument that nearly turned into a screaming match. Eventually, it ended up with Arthur agreeing to be the twins' godfather—because, honestly, winning a fight with Ari was impossible these days.

Arthur himself had kept very busy since the Fischer Job. He'd been in high demand since Cobb had stopped behind his Extractor. And he'd taken case after case, from simple to life-or-death. If Ariadne buried herself in school, Arthur drowned himself in the dreams. He was not only sought after as the most prominent and successful Point Man in the business, but he also searched for more and more reckless jobs as the _best_ Point Man in the business.

He didn't need to do it. He had all the money a man like him could need. He had two lovely flats waiting for him in New York and London. Unfortunately, it wasn't a livelihood he was looking for, but a distraction. A thrill to keep him going. An adrenaline rush to help him run and hide—not from any physical pursuer, but from his own emotions. He'd been running and smothering them for years. After Mal had died, things had just spun completely out of control. He'd been able to hide behind Dom for the longest time. So long that he hadn't come up with a contingency plan. It had all been about the jobs. It had all been about _fixing_ things for Dom. About finding him a way home.

So when they had finally achieved that, Arthur was lost. Consumed and overwhelmed by _feelings_. Sorrow and guilt and _pain_. He was drowning in them, and he hated it. Hated it so much that he had gotten utterly tossed at a bar not far from his hotel the second they'd landed after performing the impossible Inception on Robert Fischer. It had swept over him the second Dom had walked away because he knew—he _fucking knew_ that he wouldn't be needed anymore. That he was on his own. And, contrary to popular belief, he didn't _like_ being alone. Couldn't _stand it_.

That was when the second part of what he was running from had made his appearance. Arthur had been blind drunk, and Eames had found him, frowned, and escorted him back to his hotel. The Point Man didn't know how he'd been found, drowning himself in a fifty year old scotch, but he knew, at the time, that Eames was very dishy and quite his type. If he were being completely honest—in his drunken reverie with his inhibition slaughtered—he would have admitted Eames was _exactly_ his type, and he only constantly turned the Englishman's advances down because of Arthur's own terrible insecurities.

In fact, in aforementioned drunken reverie with slaughtered inhibitions, Arthur _had_ admitted his affinity to the man. Sure, the words had been slurred and watery—alcohol and depression does that to a person—but the meaning was completely sincere. Honest. And Arthur didn't _do_ honest very often. Or, rather he didn't _do _honest with anyone but himself. Not about feelings. It went to show just how completely trashed he'd been.

Well, that, and the very sloppy kiss he'd attempted to place on that_ perfect goddamn mouth_ Eames had. But it was mostly the feelings and honesty bit.

Arthur had woken up the nest day with a crippling headache and the knowledge that he'd made himself into a complete fool. Rejection and mortification had spurred his run. He hadn't exactly stopped since. He'd done the good uncle thing with Cobb and the kids. Tried to make it to important events like weddings and birthdays. Ultimately though, he'd hid himself in his work. Growing colder and more calculating with each job. More distant.

He didn't check up on Eames—all he knew was that he had bought a lovely place in Sussex and was settling in for a calm-ish retirement. He didn't want to see how well he was doing on his own while Arthur was hardly holding on. He hadn't talked to any of them in about three months when he'd gotten a frightening call from Dom.

"_You're coming to Eames' for Christmas_," he'd grit out, and Arthur knew that his 'resolve' face was on. "No_ excuses Arthur. You're coming_."

And as much as he loathed being with them—of digging up pain he'd rather leave buried—he agreed. Because he wanted to see them all. Because he was crumbling on his own. Falling to pieces job by job. He was just barely clinging to not only his sanity but his very humanity. He was at that dangerous precipice of throwing everything he'd ever worked for away if only to keep himself from hurting. If only to protect himself.

He knew better though. Which was why he'd shown up on Eames' doorstep on Christmas Eve. He'd had just enough time to buy everyone presents. He'd had just enough time to steel himself for whatever intervention was to come. Thankfully nothing had. Instead, it was just a pleasant evening with the only people he considered family. Saito had even found time to send them all individual gifts.

It had been such a nice time—it had differed so much from the nights he'd been on his own. He'd lost track of time with them, laughing and drinking eggnog. Before long, their group was shrinking—Ariadne and Scott taking their leave just after Cobb had with his children draped over each shoulder—to only Yusuf, Arthur, and Eames. It wasn't until Yusuf yawned and excused himself to Eames' spare room that he realized he should have left hours before.

That was why he'd bundled up, the snow cold and ominous outside, and got ready to take his leave, as Eames was busy cleaning up after the Chemist. He'd begun to panic, wrapping his scarf around his neck, when the rough looking man walked back into the room. Arthur froze, and he could swear he felt the blood rush to his cheeks.

"Leaving so soon?" Eames appeared unsurprised, like he'd been expecting Arthur to rabbit the entire time.

"Uh, yes," he replied, gaze straying to the floor as he finished tying up his scarf. "I have to get back to my hotel. There's a flight I have to catch in the morning."

"A job?"

"No," he lied—because he would try and talk him out of it otherwise. "Visiting my family for a while. It'll be good to get back in touch with them."

Eames hummed, clearly not falling for anything Arthur said as he shifted closer and peeked out the window that the brunette was hovering by. "Looks a bit nippy out there, darling."

"I'll be fine."

A piercing gaze caught his. "You've said that to me before… and I must say, it appears you haven't been."

"I have," he snapped, buttoning his jacket. "I really should go. Thanks for having me over. Thanks for hosting. It was great seeing all of you."

He was walking towards the door, but Eames was close behind. "How many times have you almost gotten killed in the past _six months_, Arthur? How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?"

He froze in the foyer, hands clenching at his sides. "I'm not—"

"You _are_," Eames hissed, large hand landing on his shoulder to turn him about. He seemed to hesitate at the look on the younger man's face. "Listen, it's bloody well freezing out. Just… stay for a bit."

Rough fingers tugged at his scarf, unraveling it from around his neck. He tensed at their close proximity, recalling the last time they'd been so near—the last time Arthur had allowed the other man so close—was a night Arthur would rather forget. He hated feeling embarrassed almost more than he hated being alone.

Letting out a sharp sigh, Arthur nodded and took a step away from the door. Eames smiled warmly; taking the scarf by the ends, still linked around the brunette's neck, and tugged him forward slowly. They made their way back into the living room like that, nothing being said. Nothing needing to be. Arthur couldn't help but feel more and more uncomfortable.

"You know," he spoke, voice tight as he stopped and began to back away from the Forger. "I really should get going, Mr. Eames. My, uh, my mom will get worried if I don't show up tomorrow. My dad'll throw a fit."

"Darling, please," Eames rolled his eyes, reaching out to catch the Point Man's hands. "We both know you aren't visiting the family. In fact, if you were to pop by, they'd probably die of fright—seeing as you've been dead for nearly ten years."

Arthur's eyes narrowed and their fingers caught. "Been checking up on me, Mr. Eames."

"Someone's got to," he muttered, frowning slightly as he dragged the man back over. "Your hands are like ice, luv." Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but shut it as he was shoved back onto the couch. "Have a sit. I'll get the fire goin'."

Arthur watched silently from his spot on the surprisingly stylish piece of furniture. His critical gaze followed Eames' every movement as he stoked the fireplace with a few logs and some wadded up papers. He was very efficient; he'd obviously done it many times before. Arthur grimaced at the thought of him entertaining someone else, and quickly looked away when the older man stood from the crackling flames.

"I really should go, Mr. Eames."

"Nonsense," Eames shook his head. "I've still got a very lovely whiskey that I need to finish off, and I'm not going to do it by myself."

Arthur grimaced, "Maybe half a glass."

The amount Eames poured was, without a doubt, more than half a glass.

"Put some music on, would you?" He asked from over his shoulder, still fiddling around with the amber liquids lined in his liquor cabinet. "The silence is bloody killing me."

'No kidding,' Arthur thought glumly to himself as he stood and made his way over to the sound system.

He flipped through a few of the records, eyes skimming the cases idly. He came to a pause when his fingers fell over the Edith Piaf album, and he plucked it out of the collection with a small frown. Flipping the plastic case open, Arthur let his fingers run over the worn album insert, his own familiar handwriting staring back up at him. It was barely legible scrawl, translating the French words on each page. Arthur remembered doing it when he was younger when he first started studying the language at University, and he had gone out to find a French album as his teacher had instructed. He'd been in love with Edith Piaf ever since.

"Find anything good?" Eames' bone-numbing baritone rumbled from behind him.

Arthur turned about, pinning the older man with an accusatory glare. "How did you get this?"

The Forger's gaze flitted to the case in Arthur's hand and back up to the Point Man's steely, dark eyes. "You left it."

"Left it?" Arthur's brow shot up, and Eames nodded.

"That night after Inception," if Eames noticed the way Arthur's cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, he didn't comment. "You left your hotel room in quite a hurry the next morning. Left that behind."

Arthur's fingers clenched around it, "Why didn't you just mail it back?"

"You were always on the move, darling." Eames replied, taking a step closer. "So, I waited. Knew you'd come for it eventually."

Arthur tensed as Eames' hand wrapped around his wrist. Another rough hand climbed up his arm until it was gripping just below his shoulder. A sharp tug had them chest-to-chest.

"How?"

Eames grinned and Arthur felt heat erupt somewhere low in his stomach. "Wasn't the only thing you left behind."

Warm lips pressed searingly to Arthur's own. The Point Man melted almost instantly, molding himself against the hard muscle as he was pressed back against the shelving built into the wall. Teeth nipped at his lower lip and he opened up to allow their tongues to tangle.

It wasn't long before they broke apart panting. Arthur's lips were kiss swollen. Eames' clothes and hair were rumpled and ruffled. Dark eyes searched the Forger's face desperately.

"You turned me down."

"You were drunk," he replied, almost gently. "I wasn't going to take advantage."

Arthur blinked, a slow, teasing smile curling on his lips. "You were… You were being a gentleman?"

"You won't have me any other way, darling." Eames smiled, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to Arthur's cheek. "And then you started running. Should've known you'd take it the wrong way… Years wasted because of a silly misunderstanding."

"Mr. Eames," Arthur shook his head, trying his best to suppress the light hearted feeling that was bubbling up in him, clotting out the bits of darkness that still had hold of his heart. "You are absolutely ridiculous."

"Only for you, darling."

Arthur smiled and their foreheads touched gently as he leaned forward. He inhaled slowly. Deeply. Allowing himself a moment to take the other man in. Eames' hold shifted, a strong arm winding around his waist to tug him closer.

"What happened to the whiskey?" Arthur muttered as Eames' face buried into the crook of his neck.

"On the table," he replied, voice low and husky. "What happened to the job you were running off to?"

"Have you seen the storm?" Arthur asked coyly, and Eames peered up at him with a wicked grin and a glimmer of hope.

"Staying then?"

"Absolutely," lips brushed again and bodies pressed in tighter. "It's freezing out there."

**Fin.**


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